


Seven

by keeperofthemoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, and ginny deals with it, in which draco is a brat, whether she wants to or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 02:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13695126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeperofthemoon/pseuds/keeperofthemoon
Summary: That familiar feeling he could only associate with Weasley came over him. Draco hated the feeling, hated that it was washing over him again, coming back to him as if it had never left. --Seven times over seven years Draco Malfoy stumbled upon Ginny Weasley. And it would change him.





	Seven

**Author's Note:**

> This was written ages ago but I figured the more Draco/Ginny work posted, the better! Enjoy!

-*.*.*-

**First Year:**

Draco’s father had found someone from the Ministry to speak to and his mother wouldn’t stop fussing over his hair. It was all rather annoying, this process, but he couldn’t deny the spark of excitement that settled in his belly from seeing the large train before him. He was finally going to Hogwarts. He was finally leaving his mother’s coddling and his father’s sharp gaze and he was going to be able to make them proud. Truly proud.

His father had only given him two instructions the day before. First was not to let the family down. No house would do for a Malfoy except Slytherin. Draco had almost been worried he wouldn’t be sorted into Slytherin, that maybe, and he would likely die of embarrassment, he was more like a Hufflepuff. An old woman he had recently met told him he had kind eyes, a beautiful combination of dark and light. He hadn’t wanted to take her words to heart but what if his eyes were too kind? Kind like a Hufflepuff? Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too horrid but Hufflepuff or Gryffindor (if he was sorted into Gryffindor he’d probably be disowned) would ruin his life. 

It wasn’t until last night, when his mother caught him awake far past his bedtime and whispered he was a Slytherin through and through and not to fret, that he stopped worrying. She said he’d be fine. And Draco would be fine. He was the first Malfoy in ages to grace the school and he would be just fine. Better than fine. He’d be brilliant. 

His father’s second instruction was to befriend Harry Potter. Draco had never been the best at making friends so that worried him just as much as getting sorted into Slytherin. He hated sharing, hated listening to Crabbe and Goyle drone on about things he didn’t care about, hated sitting in awkward silences. And it was Harry Potter, after all. Perhaps Potter would have heard of him too and they’d get along swell. Perhaps he had nothing to worry over.

Draco stepped away from his mother’s unyielding touching with a tight smile.

“I’m going to find Crabbe and Goyle,” he told her.

She looked him over once before nodding.

“Be back soon, darling. The train begins boarding in just a few minutes.”

He nodded and walked away, haughty in his stance. It was by far time he was on his own, after all. He was eleven now and it wouldn’t do for his friends or the older students to see his mother messing with his hair.

The platform was packed with families and pets and trunks. There was so much noise that Draco almost cringed. He preferred the quiet; the manor always seemed to absorb sound and the sudden rush of noise was a bit overwhelming. But, nonetheless, he found himself listening to the conversations around him as he navigated through the crowd. Two girls were discussing potential Gryffindors for the upcoming Quidditch season. As if the Gryffindor team had a chance of winning anything. Without a second thought, Draco stepped on one of their cloaks, causing them to sputter angrily behind him. He smirked and darted between a tall, black man who was laughing at his son with dreadlocks.

He stumbled to a stop.

A small girl appeared before him abruptly. He hadn’t been paying very good attention—if he had noticed her a second later he would’ve slammed into her. The girl glanced at him before looking over his shoulder. She was wringing her hands nervously in front of her.

“Not very nice of you,” she said shortly, startling him. “I saw what you did to Angelina and Katie. They’re my brothers’ friends.”

“Move it, will you?” Draco snapped, realizing himself. “I’m trying to find my friends.”

The girl focused on him and frowned.

“Well, I’m trying to find Harry Potter,” she admitted, gnawing on her bottom lip anxiously. “I was just with him and my family and then I let go of my mum’s hand by accident but I’ll find her, I’m not worried, I just want to see him again.”

Intrigued, Draco scanned the area also.

“Harry Potter, you say?”

She nodded, her bright red hair barely held back with hair clips. She looked different than anyone Draco had ever been around. The dress she wore had a large hole that exposed part of her left knee and her cardigan had an obnoxious stain on it. He sniffed and pulled his cloak tighter around him. 

“Are you going to Hogwarts this year?” asked Draco.

He hoped not. She looked… dirty. His mother would go mad if she spotted Draco talking to this odd child.

The girl looked at him and shook her head sadly.

“Just my brother. I always get left behind. Next year, though, I will be.”

Draco made a show of lifting his chin.

“This is my first year,” he boasted. “I’m going to be in Slytherin. That’s where all the great wizards go.”

The girl, in turn, scrunched her nose.

“I didn’t know people actually wanted to be in Slytherin.”

His face flushed and he grabbed his wand from his pocket. How dare she mock the Slytherin house? The heat continued to creep up his neck as he tightened his grip on his wand. When the girl spotted that he had drawn his wand she narrowed her eyes. But before Draco could do anything, though he had no idea what he’d actually do to teach this girl a lesson, he heard shouting.

“Draco! Draco, dear—”

Draco glanced behind him and noticed his mother making her way through the crowd. He turned back to the girl, who’s attention was diverted.

“Oh, my mum spotted me,” she groaned. “I just wanted to see him, just once more, it has to be him, I swear it. I thought I saw the scar—”

He pocketed his wand, quickly forgetting the brief hostility between them.

“I’ll find him and we’ll be the greatest of friends,” Draco stated confidently.

The girl ignored him and, with a loud sigh, walked away in the direction he was sure her mother was. Draco frowned but, hearing his name called again, darted back to his mother. Her lips were twisted and her eyes narrowed as she looked to where he had been standing.

“Not surprised you managed to find a Weasley in this crowd, Draco, but please don’t talk to them openly like that,” she said as she brushed invisible dirt off his cloak. “It doesn’t reflect well on your father, darling.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose in surprise. That girl was a Weasley? He should have known. His father always complained about their horrid red hair. 

The train whistled and his mother gently pushed him towards it. He grabbed a hold of his trunk, made sure his wand was in his pocket, and headed towards the Hogwarts Express.

He’d show that Weasley. Slytherin was the best house. By the time he’d see her next year she’d wish she were friends with him and Harry Potter.

-*.*.*-

**Second Year:**

She was a scrawny little thing, wasn’t she? He could barely contain his scowl as he looked at her from the shadows of the bookshelves. A scrawny little thing writing in a battered book as if her world depended on it. Draco could have laughed, honestly, if he cared enough. But he didn’t care about blood traitors. Not one bit.

Last year Draco had learned plenty about the Weasleys and their position in the wizarding world. He hadn’t really understood how far down in the food chain they were until he met her idiot of a brother, Ron. What an oaf. And those meddlesome twins—idiots... even if he had laughed at their antics once or twice. Draco was pretty sure there was another brother also but he wasn’t sure. The youngest Weasley was worth just as much of his time as them and yet… he found himself watching her. The last time he had spoken to her she had been unimpressed by him. It still bruised his ego a bit, how dismissive she had been. 

But things were different now. Her brother and his dynamic duo were his enemies, a fact that everyone in the school knew. That made her, by default, his foe also. 

That didn’t make his interest in her dwindle, however.

Draco was leaving the shadows and walking over to her table before he realized what he was doing. Weasley was by herself in the back of the library and had been since Draco first spotted her. Even so, Draco looked over his shoulder to double check that her herd of brothers weren’t waiting for him to make a wrong move. They were a bunch of morons, weren’t they?

He hadn’t found himself in the library often his first year at Hogwarts; he was rather good at all the work the professors assigned and could understand most lessons easily. But after his father heard that a Mudblood had outdone him in every class Lucius had insisted Draco put more of an effort into his school work. Draco could still recall the quiet in the dining hall as his father expressed his disappointment. The sound of his mother’s fork against china had rung in his ears for hours after, a harsh reminder that she had remained silent as his father raged.

It was only the beginning of his second year and he had already found himself in this dreaded library more than he liked. Granger seemed to lurk here more often than not also and he tried to avoid that wench during his study hours if he could. It was, after all, the only time he could get away from Crabbe and Goyle— they hated reading and books. The back of the library was his place of solace, a place that seemed to be shared by the youngest Weasley. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

Draco blinked in surprise, having been lost in his thoughts. His lip curled on instinct. Weasley slammed her book shut and narrowed her eyes.

“How is that any of your business, Weasley?”

Her cheeks flushed, hiding the freckles that covered her skin like a rash, and Draco smirked. 

“Are you writing love notes to Potter?” asked Draco gleefully.

He dropped the Potions book he had been planning on going through on her table. Scowling, she pushed herself away from the table with a frown. The chair made a loud screeching noise against the floor and Draco winced. He noticed that Weasley’s eyes twitched at the sound. It didn’t distract her from collecting her little black book, however, and putting it in her bag. 

“Going somewhere, Weasley? I rather thought we could share a table together. Perhaps I could give you some tips on finance that you could pass on to your parents. It must be hard for them to feed— how many of you are there? Eleven? Twelve? I do feel—”

“Shut it, git,” Weasley growled.

She approached him and jabbed him hard in the shoulder. And it _hurt_. Who knew a little thing like her could poke him with such strength? Draco snarled at her but resisted pushing her back. He was better than that. He was, after all, a Malfoy. Instead he leaned in close to her.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he bit back.

“Then stop being such a prat,” she retorted. “You’re not better than me!”

“Who lied and told you that?”

Her pupils dilated. She was so close to him that he noticed right away. And then the little girl pushed him so hard he slammed into the bookshelf behind him. He cried out before he could stop himself and crumbled to the ground. Then she darted away. The black on her shoes were scuffed, a fact that Draco couldn’t help but notice from the floor. 

Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet. No need going after that bint; she was likely already running to Perfect Potter to tell him about the mean Slytherin in the library. Draco grimaced at the pain in his back but took a seat at the table Weasley had been previously occupying. 

How different she was from the year before.

Smirking to himself, Draco opened the Potions book to try to get a head start on the lesson Professor Snape would be presenting tomorrow.

-*.*.*-

**Third Year:**

He felt more than a bit foolish keeping up the act that his arm actually hurt when it didn’t at all. But it was worth it to see Potter’s fists clench in anger, to see Weasley’s face burn like a flame, to see Granger barely hold back the two beasts she called friends. Stupid Mudblood. Draco had forgone dinner that afternoon in order to get away from Pansy and the crew, who took delight in loudly fussing over him, but was now starving. A rather grubby token for his wonderful acting, if he did say so himself.

But his mother had told him after his first year where the kitchens were in Hogwarts, far too worried that at any point he’d go to bed hungry. Draco hadn’t asked anything further but as he wandered through the corridors, making sure to not make a sound in case a Prefect roamed nearby, he was curious how his innocent mother knew the location. Did his father know where the kitchens were too?

Draco would normally ask in a letter home but his father would likely think the question a waste of time to respond to. After all, his father was trying to get the oaf Hagrid fired from his teaching position. Really, what was Dumbledore thinking, letting that giant teach children? 

Tickling the pear, Draco entered the kitchen and made sure the portrait shut behind him before paying attention to his surroundings. He jumped in surprise, his back hitting the portrait frame, when the first thing he saw was a creature far too large to be a house elf but far too tiny to be anyone of importance.

“What are you doing here?” she cried out, dropping a biscuit she had been munching on.

Still in a state of shock, he answered truthfully.

“I’m hungry.”

The student slowly picked up the dropped biscuit, eyeing him warily. It was Ginny Weasley, the girl who had almost lost her life in the Chamber of Secrets the year before. Draco hadn’t seen much of her this term. She seemed to have learned how to melt into the shadows, becoming invisible to those with a curious eye. Who did she even hang out with? He never saw her spending time with any of her brothers. Was she mentally unhinged? He hadn’t heard much of her and maybe there was a reason why—

“How d’you know about the kitchens?” snapped Weasley.

Worried she had a knife behind her back, Draco raised his hands up.

“My mother told me,” he responded.

Weasley stared at him hard before stepping away. She seemed to deflate a bit and, after a moment’s consideration, turned her back to him and approached the table she must have been sitting at before he entered. Draco stayed by the portrait, contemplating leaving hungry instead of staying with this loon. His stomach rumbled in response and he took a small step forward.

She didn’t look at him when he took another step and then another. The kitchen smelled delicious and, though he didn’t spy any house elves, there was plates and plates of food on the table Weasley sat at. Draco glanced around, trying to find an elf to order about (for he was more than a little hesitant to share food with a Weasley). But he couldn’t spot any movement except the flames from the fire on the opposite side of the kitchen. 

“So you are faking.”

Draco stilled before focusing on the girl. She had finished the biscuit and had picked up a sandwich. Her gaze was sharp but curious.

“Faking what, exactly?” Draco spat.

Her eyes looked at his arm, which he currently had propped on his hip, and then rose to meet his stare. He frowned, mind whirling to come up with an excuse as to why his damaged arm was moving freely now. When he took too long to think of something he stomped over and took a seat across from her.

“What are you going to do about it? No one will believe you anyway. You’re no one important. You’re just the girl who almost died in the Chamber of Secrets.”

She didn’t react to his words how he expected. As Draco reached for a sandwich, he was really hungry, Weasley cracked a smile.

“I suppose that is who I am.”

Weasley took a large bite of her sandwich.

“You know,” she said, not done chewing yet.

Draco grimaced at the rudeness of it, feeling his stomach turn. Was she raised in a barn? Who ate like that?

“You’re the only person who’s ever mentioned the Chamber to me.”

She swallowed her food and tilted her head. He didn’t like her studying him. It was as though she was trying to read his mind and it was unnerving and he wanted it to stop. 

“So that black book,” he said, to get her to stop looking at him like _that_. “That had something to do with it?”

This time he did get a reaction from her. Weasley dropped her food, mouth open in surprise. He didn’t smirk but could feel one corner of his lip curl. She must have seen it for she lurched forward. Draco jumped back, remembering their last encounter in the library.

But she wasn’t trying to push him out of his seat. She had grabbed his wrist, her grip firm. Draco tried to yank it back but she held on tight.

“Your father told you?” Weasley guessed, her voice shrill.

“Let go of me, Weasley!”

“Did he? Did he tell you, Malfoy? Did he tell you that he’s the reason I almost died? _Did he?_ Tell me!”

Draco yanked away from her and fell out of his seat. He landed on his bum but scrambled quickly to his feet. Weasley was standing also, her hands clenched into fists at her side.

“My father did nothing,” Draco hissed, the back of his neck burning as he lied through his teeth. “You’re as mad as the rest of your family, aren’t you?”

He brushed off his cloak. 

“Enjoy your midnight snack,” he said as defiantly as possible before heading back to the portrait. 

Her words stopped him before he got there.

“I could’ve died down there, Malfoy. Your father almost killed me.”

His back stiffened and instinct told him to defend his father, defend his honor. But all words seemed to die in his throat. Then he felt her presence right behind him.

“You stay,” Weasley whispered, the anger heavy in her words. “I’ll go.”

And she pushed open the portrait, her footsteps soft as she left him. He didn’t glance at the girl as she left. But Draco could imagine how she looked, her image bright in his mind. Hard eyes and teeth clenched, Ginny Weasley was as wild and unpredictable as the fire that burnt in the stoves behind him.

And how could he fight that fire when its source was true? His father had almost killed Ginny Weasley, he was sure of it. Lucius was always right about everything, always; Draco had learnt that long ago. But he wasn’t so sure that his father was right about trying to kill the youngest Weasley, no matter how deplorable she was. He had heard Lucius complaining to his mother about it last summer, how his mission had failed, how the little wench hadn’t died. Draco wasn’t too sure why his father wanted Weasley to go into the Chamber of Secrets and never return but it was the first thing his father had done that Draco knew wasn’t right.

It was a hair of a crack in the foundation of Draco’s trust for his father but it was still there. And while Draco had purposely ignored the crack, hoping it would go away, he couldn’t help but be annoyed that it occurred because of Weasley.

-*.*.*-

**Fourth Year:**

He was surprised she was invited to the Yule Ball. Draco knew she was too young to go to the ball by herself but he hadn’t thought that someone would actually invite her. He was wrong, clearly. For most of the night Draco had been unaware that Weasley was even in his midst, that she was among the many students dancing or laughing, mingling or snogging. It wasn’t until Crabbe had asked Pansy to dance, a true blessing, and Draco was able to sit down at an empty table that he saw her. She was escaping Longbottom’s clumsy grasp, giggling loudly.

She must have delivered some sort of joke for she elbowed Longbottom in the stomach playfully and he burst out into laughter. The stupid boy watched her for a second before turning around, allowing her to walk away. Unaware of what he was doing, Draco stood from his seat as she passed by his table. Weasley hadn’t even bothered to look at him! Heading towards the exit of the Great Hall, Draco followed her. She didn’t notice his presence, saying hello to several people and smiling at a few more. 

As soon as they passed through the open doors, Weasley spun on her heel, eyes lit up as she eyed him. Taken by surprise, Draco hopped to the side, grimacing as his shoulder knocked into a suit of armor. He heard the suit of armor curse at him but his attention was on Weasley.

“Why are you following me?” she hissed.

Her red hair filled his vision before she stepped away.

“Stop following me, Malfoy.”

Draco narrowed his eyes but found no heat to put into the look. Instead he leaned casually against the wall and looked her over. Her dress was battered but that was no surprise. The hem was starting to fall apart after a few hours of wear but it was a pretty pink with light green lace. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she growled. “What do you want?”

Tilting his head, Draco smirked.

“Where are you going?”

A group of students walked by, chattering loudly. They would’ve drowned out any response Weasley gave so she waited to speak, crossing her arms in anger. Draco eyed a student who was watching their interaction curiously until the student turned and rejoined his friends. Weasley spoke as soon as the group disappeared.

“Bathroom. Would you like to join me?”

His eyebrows knitted together at her question.

“I’m joking, git,” Weasley snapped. “What are you doing?”

Draco wished he had a quick answer but he didn’t. What was he doing? As soon as he had seen Weasley he had wanted to speak to her. He hadn’t seen her at all this year, only in the corridors or Great Hall, and he hadn’t spoken to her since their meet up in the kitchens the year before. And he had just wanted to… It had nothing to do with the fact that his father attempted to kill her two years prior. At least that’s what he told himself over and over again, a constant mantra in his head, as his eyes followed her whenever he spotted her. 

Guilt had begun to build, heavy in his chest, after their last encounter. It had weighed on Draco all throughout the year. Ridiculous, really. He had nothing to do with his father’s actions. Yet, still, he found himself looking for the youngest Weasley almost obsessively. To make sure she was all right. To make sure his father didn’t succeed in his plans from two years before.

It was oddly relieving to see that she no longer lingered in the shadows like she used to.

“You say that as though you don’t enjoy my company, Weasley.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed.

“I don’t,” she responded quickly. “Don’t you have someone else to bother? Perhaps a first year who seems a tad too happy for your liking?”

“I’m hardly bothering you,” Draco said, ignoring her quip about the first year. “This is me on my best behavior.”

Weasley looked over him as he had done her. Then she grinned. 

“Well, it’s pathetic. Enjoy your night, Malfoy.”

She turned and was walking away before he could process what she said. Anger burned through him— why didn’t she want to talk to him— and he was following her again. Weasley glanced over her shoulder when she heard his footsteps and she spun around with a sigh.

“You think you’re better than me?” Draco snarled.

His height was an advantage as he loomed over her. Her warm breath fanned his chin when she looked up at him.

“I don’t think I’m better than you,” she said, her voice taking a tone he wasn’t used to.

An unfamiliar feeling raced through his veins as he stared her. Weasley lifted a hand, almost hesitantly. When she placed her palm against the pale skin of his cheek, he held his breath. If someone were to find them now, if someone were to ask why he was letting her touch him, he’d have no answer. It was simply happening and he couldn’t stop it.

Her eyes were brown. Just brown. But he had never noticed it before. Never really stared into her eyes and saw _her_. There was a speck of gold in each eye, just one speck in each. It was nice. 

Suddenly her lips twisted into a smirk, startling him. And then Weasley clapped her hand sharply against his cheek. He winced and stepped back in surprise, his mouth dropping open.

“I know I’m better than you,” Weasley said sweetly and winked at him.

Then she spun and entered the girls’ bathroom. He remained frozen in shock as she disappeared from his sight.

What exactly had he been thinking, letting Weasley touch him like that?

-*.*.*-

**Fifth Year:**

Her broom dragged on the ground behind her, leaving a trail for him to follow. Draco was more cautious than last year in meeting up with her. This time there was a bit more bad blood than there had been before. But he wanted to see her. It was an absolutely ridiculous desire but Draco was not one to keep himself from what he craved. 

Weasley wasn’t like everyone else. She wasn’t annoying like the Golden Trio, she wasn’t boring like Crabbe and Goyle, she didn’t watch him like Pansy, she didn’t smother him like his mother, she didn’t expect anything from him like his father. She was simply… different. There as a constant fire in her actions, a fire that the rest of Hogwarts seemed to just now be noticing. And it was a fire he wanted to keep to himself. 

Draco would never admit that out loud but there it was. 

When the _need_ to speak to her became too much he found her out at the Quidditch pitch. Weasley was practicing by herself. After he managed to get Potter and a handful of Weasley’s brothers kicked off the team, something Draco was more than a little proud of, the youngest Weasley was given the position of Seeker. She was good too. The fact was often discussed among the Slytherin Quidditch team.  
Weasley knew how to handle the broom and she was fearless in the air. When he had been approaching the Quidditch pitch, Draco had seen her crash as she attempted the Wronski Defensive Feint. But, after only a moment of not being in the air, she had returned. By the time he had arrived at the pitch, she had already finished.

He had felt a stirring within him more than once while he watched her as he advanced but he wasn’t sure how to properly describe the feeling. It was unlike anything he had felt before but he didn’t eye it too closely, afraid of what he’d learn if he did. 

“Weasley!” he called out, after swallowing thickly.

Her back straightened immediately and she spun around. Her hair was windswept and her cheeks burnt from either the sun or wind or both. He felt that stirring once more, a bit of thrill as he approached her. 

“Malfoy.”

Unexpectedly, Weasley tossed her broom to the side and was running at him. Draco blanched, shocked into stillness, before she tackled him. He fell to the ground, dirt flying up, as the youngest Weasley began pounding him with her fists. Shouting, Draco struggled to get his wand out but— fuck it all to hell— it had rolled out of his pocket and away from him. Afraid she’d manage to bruise his face, how would he explain that, Draco put his attention to grabbing her hands.

It took a minute, in which she was cursing and he was shouting, before he managed to grab both her wrists. With nothing left to attack him, Draco easily flipped them so Weasley was on her back. Her face was flushed and her teeth bared in a snarl. If he hadn’t been sure he had a good grip on her, Draco would have been more frightened of the girl.

“What was that for?” he asked, wishing he could reach up and check his nose. “I could give you a detention for that, you know. Inquisitorial Squad, remember?”

He could feel the heat come off her at his words but couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on his face.

“Are you daft? You’re absolutely horrible, you are an awful person, get the hell off of me, Malfoy! Who do you think you are?”

Draco maneuvered his grip so that he held both her thin wrists with one hand. She squirmed beneath him, likely about to spit fire. He checked his nose with his free hand. It wasn’t too sensitive and wasn’t bleeding. Good.

He turned his attention back to the girl beneath him.

“What are you talking about?”

Weasley was furious. She reminded him of a wet cat, spitting curses at him. What a filthy mouth she had. Really, she must have been raised in a barn. 

“You think you can call my mum—” Her lip trembled in anger. “You can’t treat people like that. You should’ve been kicked off the Quidditch team, you little shit, not my brothers, not Harry!”

Ah, so the bad blood was worse than he thought. 

“Get off of me!”

He contemplated the thought for a second and hesitantly, when he realized her face was turning purple in rage, released her wrists. Weasley pushed him off of her right away to sit up and he scrapped his hands catching himself. She didn’t move to stand up though. Her knees were bleeding and there was a bruise forming on her elbow. A small spot of guilt tickled his throat as he released a soft breath. Perhaps he shouldn’t have snuck up on her.

Weasley brushed a piece of hair behind her ear and looked at him. There was disgust lingering on her face as she eyed him.

“Why do you do that?” she finally asked.

Draco wanted to shift uncomfortably under her gaze but Malfoys didn’t shift uncomfortably. Instead he stared back at her, stone faced. 

“There are bigger things going on outside of this school, Malfoy,” Weasley whispered, her voice catching. “Bigger things than getting Harry and my brothers in trouble. I don’t think you realize that.”

He didn’t know what to say. Of course he knew there were things brewing outside of the school that were dark and dangerous. But couldn’t he have his fun still? 

Her brown eyes, with a speck of gold in each, stared at him.

“I don’t think you understand. And one day you will and it will be too late. This isn’t a game.”

Weasley’s words were heavy and final and _real_. Merlin, this girl needed to lighten up, if only a little. Draco wanted to tease her about Potter and her brothers— it was almost natural instinct for him to do that when he didn’t know what else to do— but he held his tongue. Her face was cooling as was her temper. She ran a hand through her hair and looked away from Draco, as if disappointed in him. This wasn’t nearly as fun as he had wanted it to be. 

Weasley stood, not bothering to brush her clothes off of the dirt and grass that now stuck to her, and walked away from him without another word. She was always walking away from him, he realized as she picked up her broom and disappeared into the shadows of the stadium.

-*.*.*-

**Sixth Year:**

It was cold here and it was blissful. Pressing his cheek against the tile, Draco let his eyes fall shut. Myrtle wasn’t here for once and he wasn’t sure if he was pleased about that or not. She was very good at reminding him to _just breathe_ , to keep breathing, he could get through this if he just took another breath. But that wasn’t true, was it? Voldemort, he had… entrusted Draco. And this wasn’t a game; if Draco didn’t kill Dumbledore then his mother and father’s lives would be viciously cut short.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t chat with his friends or finish his school work. Draco was going to fail and his family would suffer the consequences. This was the end. This was the end of everything.

There was a soft muttering and Draco opened his eyes, half relieved that Myrtle had returned from whatever pipe she had been in. He needed someone to help him, to comfort him, to remind him to _breathe_. 

“Malfoy?”

But it was not Myrtle who spoke.

The voice was soft, hesitant, and Draco hated it. Because he recognized it instantly. How could he not? Opening his eyes, Draco saw the familiar, tiny figure step into his view.

Weasley stood before him, rolls of parchment barely contained in her arms. Her wand stuck out of her hair like Looney Lovegood’s usually did and one of her socks had fallen down to her ankle. Draco remained still, his cheek against the wall, his hand twitching. He wanted to grab his wand, he wanted to curse her, make her forget, because he could see in her eyes that she was witnessing something she had never, ever thought she’d be privileged to.

He hated her as she put the rolls of parchment down slowly in the sink, where the water would surely ruin them. He hated her as she gnawed at her bottom lip, unsure of what to do for once. He hated her because he felt something tighten in his chest at the sight of her; it unwound than wound back up.

“Malfoy? What are you doing in the girls’ loo?” Weasley asked, approaching cautiously. “I can’t really pee with you in here.”

When she was close enough to him that he breathed in her scent— flowers — she sat down on the floor. Her knees, which always seemed scabbed and bruised, brushed his. Weasley licked her lips and stared up at him earnestly.

“I’m assuming it’s not because the boys’ loo was full?”

Her words were gentle, teasing, and there was a smile playing on her lips. She should hate him. His father had only last year tried to kill her _again_. Lucius had tried to kill her and her oaf of a brother and all her friends. It was only last year that Draco had captured her and her band of cronies in Umbridge’s office, holding her captive even though he knew Umbridge was a nut. Weasley had scratched him as they fought, as he tried to grab her wrists and tell her _he wouldn’t hurt her, just stop fighting,_ because he wasn’t going to hurt her, he really wasn’t. He could keep her safe if she just fucking listened. But Weasley had been so angry, she couldn’t see, didn’t care as she drug her nails across his face. In his surprise at the sudden pain she had been able to use his own wand to cast the Bat-Bogey hex. 

She should hate him.

Instead she knocked her knee against his when he didn’t answer.

“You’re not looking too well.”

Draco lifted his head off the wall, unsure of what she was seeing as she studied at him. The concern in her eyes, he didn’t deserve it.

This wasn’t a game, she had told him once. And she was right. He was a fool. And now he was going to pay for it. He was going to pay for it and Weasley was going to pay for it, he knew it, he knew she was going to pay for being here, sympathizing with him. If only she had any idea of what he was trying to do. She wouldn’t want to help him, she’d want to kill him. She’d want him thrown in Azkaban. 

She’d never look at him like she was now.

“Leave me be.”

He tried to spit the words like poison but it didn’t work. He was weak, he was going to fail, fuck, he was going to die. They all were.

“Malfoy—”

“Leave!” he cried out, rushing to his feet. He stumbled, a rush of dizziness striking him as fast as a frightened snake. “Leave me be! Can’t you see you’re not wanted?”

His hands were shaking as he ran them through his hair. Closing his eyes, he turned away from her surprised gaze. He could hear her breathing behind him, fast and short. Then he felt her approach him; he could feel the heat coming off of her. He opened his eyes slowly, breath hitching, as her small hand press into his back. She let out a soft sigh before she wrapped her arms around him from behind.

Draco was uncomfortably frozen, his hands still by his head, his breath lost. She was warm against him and her breasts dug into his back, but it wasn’t bad, no, it was completely different. Her palms were pressed against his stomach, keeping him from moving. He had never been hugged like this before. 

“ _Draco…_ ” she breathed. “You’re going to be okay.”

As her words washed over him, so strong and sure, his eyes fluttered shut. What did she know? What could Weasley possibly know? It didn’t matter, though. For before he could relish in her touch, in her comfort, she was gone. And she took all her warmth with her. The rolls of parchment in the sink were gone, her bag lifted away with her, her curious eyes no longer watching him. Draco found it hard to move, to keep breathing, as he searched the bathroom for her.

All that remained was her scent, flowers and happiness and hope. After fighting the urge to get sick in one of the toilets—how could he let her find him like that— he picked up his bag and left.

-*.*.*-

**Seventh Year:**

She was running down the corridor, light on her feet as she rounded the corner. It was obvious she didn’t notice him for she was glancing over her shoulder at something else. By the time Weasley looked forward she ran right into him. Draco grabbed her arms to steady her as they slammed into the wall behind him. Weasley tossed her head, getting the hair out of her face. And, Merlin, it was a welcome sight to finally see her eyes focused on him again. The last time she had really looked at him had been in Myrtle’s bathroom before he… before he destroyed everything.

Relief washed over her face when she noticed who had caught her.

Draco’s eyebrows rose in confusion at the sight—she was relieved to see him? Letting out a quick breath, Weasley’s eyes roamed his face. Then she grabbed his hand and looked around. He felt the loss of her gaze immediately.

“Weas—”

“Shut it, ferret,” she muttered.

“What are you—”

“For once, listen to something other than that demented voice inside your head, hmm?”

He quieted, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Weasley tugged him after her and he followed, intrigued despite himself. This was the first time they had been alone in each other’s company for far too long. Draco had seen her in the Great Hall at meals, of course, but she was always whispering to Longbottom, her eyes diverted from the Slytherin table. Sometimes he’d pass her on his way to class but she’d never meet his eye, preoccupied. 

It was no secret that she was behind the many vandalisms in the Great Hall. He knew that she had started up that horrible resistance group again. Dumbledore’s Army. They were all fools, the lot of them.

He’d never admit it but worry knitted his stomach at the sight of her. She shouldn’t be at Hogwarts; she would be safer at home. If anything, her family should have put her under the Fidelius charm. It was a well-known fact that her family was a part of the rebellion, that she had dated Potter the year before, that by her being here she was simply playing into the Dark Lord’s hands. The Dark Lord wanted her where he could keep an eye on her. Just in case.

Draco didn’t like it, didn’t like that despite all of those facts Weasley was still fighting against the restraints at Hogwarts. He more than once saw her with a bruise on her face after a detention. And he had more than once heard a professor mention her name with a snarl. She wasn’t safe here.

She stopped suddenly and pulled open a door. It revealed a tiny broom closet. Draco frowned but had no time to question what she was doing before she stepped inside and yanked him in after her. He hit a broom and it fell on his head then bounced off and hit his shoulder. Hissing, Draco pushed it away and turned to watch as Weasley whispered a spell. A lock clicked and she stepped away from the door, her back hitting his chest.

“Weasley, what are you doing—”

“Just be quiet for one minute, Malfoy,” she snapped. 

“Don’t interrupt me again,” he warned darkly.

She whirled around, her hair tickling his chin, and pressed a finger to his lips. He stilled at the contact, his eyes meeting hers in surprise.

“You owe me,” whispered Weasley.

He _owed_ her? For what?

Before Draco could scowl, or interrogate her, he heard it. Loud footsteps coming down the corridor. They seemed to echo in the small space of the closet. Weasley reached down and grabbed his wrist when the footsteps stopped outside the door. 

“—see the bint go anywhere?”

“We’ll catch her. She can’t have McGonagall protect her forever—”

“—hang her upside down by her feet, watch her face go red from the rush of blood, give her another scar, I will—”

The Carrows.

He waited until their footsteps disappeared down the corridor before turning his attention back to the girl in front of him. Draco grabbed her by the arms in a swift movement, backing her against the wall. She yelped when her head slammed into the low ceiling and he felt a flash of shame. Until she looked up at him defiantly, eyes blazing.

The anger returned to him as quickly as it had left.

“The Carrows? You’re fucking around with them? You’re insane. Lost some brain cells, have you?”

Weasley tried to shake his hands off of her, unbothered by his words.

“They didn’t even try the door,” she muttered to herself. “Idiots.”

Irritation bristled through him, raising the hair on his forearms. He slammed his hands onto the wall beside her head. She jumped in surprise, her breath catching as she looked up at him.

“They’ll kill you, do you realize that?”

“They won’t _kill_ me, Malfoy. Don’t get your knickers in a bunch.”

Weasley tried to dance around him but his hands kept her in place. He leaned in close to her and she breathed out sharply through her nose. Draco could feel it on his upper lip.

“Ginny, they’ll kill you,” he told her, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

And they would kill her, if they were given permission. He had seen the things the Carrows did, the destruction they caused. They were a mindless disaster and Weasley was walking right into their storm. It was clear she didn’t realize how dangerous the situation was or she’d stop with her brave acts of defiance. Or, perhaps, she did know that Death lingered beside her in the school, waiting and watching, and she simply didn’t care.

But Draco cared, for all the fucking good it did him. He cared and it burned a hole in his stomach, knowing that at any second the Dark Lord could give the order and the flame of her life would be snuffed.

Weasley stilled, her head tilting to the side. Draco half wondered if his words pierced her thick skull until he saw her lips were curling into a smile.

“Since when did you start worrying over me?” she asked softly.

Swallowing thickly, Draco shook his head. 

“You’re a fool, Weasley.”

His throat was dry and his heart was pounding. Could she hear it? Draco glanced away from her, eyeing the door. He had to get out of here. It was as if he couldn’t handle being in her presence too long. Weasley was too bright, too much, for him. 

He was a shadow compared to her.

“Back to Weasley, is it?” she teased, though her words lacked humor.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, retracing their conversation. Of course it was Weasley, of course—except it wasn’t. Draco had called her Ginny. Her given name. The realization that her name had been spoken from his lips made him stumble away from her in surprise. Her gaze were sharp as she watched him.

“This isn’t a game,” Draco said to fill the awkward silence.

It was ironic, wasn’t it, that he was repeating to her advice she had given him so long ago? That time on the Quidditch pitch seemed a lifetime ago. Would they ever get back there? The thought made him laugh.

Get back where? Draco had never been anywhere with Ginny.

“What’s so funny?”

Draco looked at the tiny girl across the way, licking his dry lips. Despite the seriousness of the situation, his slight laughter at his own thoughts made a smile bloom on her lips. Fuck, she was beautiful. A blood traitor, yes. Potter’s whore, yes. An absolute idiot who kept throwing herself in dangerous situations for the hell of it, yes.

Yet she continued the game they had begun long ago of being a presence in each other’s lives, whether they liked it or not. 

“We’re all going to die,” he told her. “And you’re _laughing_ about it.”

As he spoke, she approached, seeming suddenly unsure. Draco hadn’t seen Weasley look unsure about anything in ages. It was such a vulnerable look that Draco instantly realized the privilege of being allowed to see her in this state. But hadn’t she seen him just as exposed the year before? Had she felt the same way he did now when she first spotted him Myrtle’s bathroom?

Was he mad for wondering such things?

“ _You_ were the one laughing,” Ginny pointed out, smirking.

Her small hands were on his arms swiftly, hot through the cloth of his shirt. Draco frowned as her grip on him tightened.

“What are you doing?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.

Ginny’s eyebrows perked.

“If we’re going to die,” she whispered. “Can’t I just try something?”

Try something? Warmth spread through his body as the many ideas of what she wanted to try raced through his mind. And the most forbidden thing, the thing Ginny would never do, became more of a reality as her hands traced his forearms before capturing his hands. His arms dropped uselessly to his sides when she released her grip on him. 

Draco waited for her to… he wasn’t sure. Draco had no idea what Ginny Weasley was doing to him right now. Perhaps he never had.

Stepping close to him, her breasts brushed his chest and he froze. Something was whispering in his head to _step away_ , to _get away_ , but he couldn’t. What was she doing? Was this some trick?

Hands shaking, she reached up and smoothed out the wrinkles of his shirt, her fingers brushing the sensitive skin of his neck. Draco could hardly breathe as her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip.

“I’m a coward.”

The words escaped him with no thought. Ginny frowned, her hands stilling their exploration of his chest.

“You should go,” he muttered.

Instead of making her leave, however, what he said seemed to give her some fuel to continue forward. Abruptly, her hands began moving again. Quickly, she tugged open his shirt. 

Draco knew if this continued, if whatever was going through her twisted mind didn’t cease, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Because, Merlin, all Weasley had ever been to him was an annoying breath of fresh air and he wasn’t willing to continue suffocating when she was offering herself up to him.

“Listen to me, Weasley, listen—”

Her breathing quickened as she looked him over and his body became horribly warm.

“Stop calling me that,” she ordered.

Draco blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“Call me Ginny.” She looked up at him, catching his eyes. “Draco, call me Ginny.”

This was the stupidest thing he had ever done. There were many reasons he shouldn’t be in this tiny broom closet with the youngest Weasley but the most glaringly obvious one was that his defenses were crumpling as she stared up at him with a blazing look that left no room for argument. Fine. Fine. She wanted to do this? Weasley wanted to try something, with him? They were all going to die anyway; hadn’t they both just said it?

“ _Fine_ ,” he hissed through his teeth. “Fine, Ginny.”

Draco reached out and grabbed her, pulling her towards him. She let out a gasp of surprise as he tugged her body flush with his. Ginny was tiny and soft and Draco had to almost fold himself in order for his lips to reach hers but, fuck, when he finally did kiss her he was sure something inside of him was melting. He yanked away in surprise but she was already reaching for him, pulling him back towards her by the collar of his shirt.

She groaned against his mouth and he resisted the urge to lift her up, to slam her body against the wall, to allow his hands to properly explore her. 

A soft knocking stilled them.

“Gin? Gin, you in there? The Carrows are searching your dorm, you’ve got to come quick.”

Longbottom.

Ginny broke away from Draco, her eyes wide and unfocused. She looked towards the locked door and blinked. The knocking came again.

“Ginny? Are you in there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Out in a minute, Neville,” she responded.

Draco straightened, finding it hard to meet her eyes. Instead he began buttoning his shirt. But his fingers didn’t want to cooperate. His cheeks burned as he tried to get the same button in the hole several times to no avail.

“Here,” Weasley whispered.

Her small fingers did what his could not, buttoning his shirt. Draco stared down at the top of her head. What had just happened? What did he allow to just happen? He was a fool.

But when she looked up and met his eyes, her lips swollen and curled in a curious smile, his thoughts disappeared. She smoothed out of his shirt as though this was a common event.

“That’s what I had thought,” Ginny mumbled.

Draco frowned, unsure of what she meant. Before he could ask, though, she waved her wand and the door unlocked. Longbottom must have heard the lock click for he opened the door right away, his wide face slack in shock as Ginny then Draco stumbled out of the small closet.

“Bloody hell,” Longbottom muttered.

Draco straightened his tie, nodded once at Ginny, then headed off in the opposite direction. He could feel her eyes on him until he turned the corner. 

His hands were still shaking.

-*.*.*-

**Three Years Later:**

There were far too many people packed on the train station platform. He fought back a cringe as a herd of children ran by his feet, laughing and yelling to each other. Where were their parents? Was that something parents did now, allow their children to run wild in public? His mother stood stiff beside him. 

“Is this necessary?” Draco finally asked, trying to keep the slight whine from his voice.

He felt like a child again when his mother looked at him in disapproval.

“Hogwarts is officially restored to its former beauty,” responded his mother, her voice soft as always. “This is a celebration of a new era. These children will never know danger, will never hear the call of war…”

She trailed off and he understood why. The Final Battle had been a turning point for the Malfoy family. His mother had helped Harry Potter, declaring him dead, lying to the Dark Lord in order to find Draco. They had to make a choice as they stood in the Great Hall that day, the Dark Lord’s body lifeless on the floor. Would they join this new world or would they remain in the darkness?

So here they were, celebrating a milestone of the new wizarding world while his father served out his sentence at Azkaban. 

King’s Cross Station was filled to the brim with families and Ministry officials, former students and old professors. For the past three years, witches and wizards worked nonstop to rebuild Hogwarts after the Final Battle. And it was now complete. A celebration was in order. So they were all at King’s Cross Station, where everybody awaited the departure of the students; the students who would arrive at a school they never truly knew in all its glory.

Fixing the school had not been a simple task. Strong, concentrated magic was needed to repair the fallen walls, the destroyed grounds, the unusable classrooms. Though students had filled its corridors every year since the Final Battle, the school was now officially just as it had been before the Dark Lord attacked. Draco had also been led to believe there was a monument on the grounds of Harry Potter.

He fought back a sneer at the thought. Everyday those poor children had to look at Potter’s scar face—

His mother grabbed his forearm and squeezed lightly. Following her stare, Draco saw that his aunt, Andromeda Tonks, was nearby with her toddler grandson. After the Final Battle, his mother had reached out to her sister and they had begun to rebuild their relationship.

“Go ahead, mother,” said Draco. “I’m going to see if Blaise or Pansy decided to show.”

A tight smile crossed his mother’s face as she held back a laugh. Draco couldn’t help grinning also. Blaise would never step foot on this platform again. And Pansy had written him several owls over the past seventy-two hours about how mad he was to mingle with the blood traitors. 

But the Malfoys were not going to be on the wrong side of history again. If he had to associate with those who won the battle and donate to charities that Potter and Longbottom set up then so be it. 

His mother released her grip on him and walked towards her sister. Draco watched her go before turning away. He knew almost no one in the crowd, thankfully. Those he did know, who went to Hogwarts with him, avoided his gaze.

Navigating the crowd, Draco barely paid attention to the conversations around him. Two girls were laughing to his right, their Gryffindor ties wrapped around their heads. He excused himself as he stepped between a father and son, both of whom were admiring the boy’s Prefect pin. Draco took a turn, hoping there would be more space and quiet further back. The Minister of Magic was here somewhere, as was the Golden Trio. If he could stay hidden until the students left—

He came to a sudden stop.

“Malfoy!”

Ginny Weasley stood in front of him. She looked utterly surprised to see him, her mouth dropping open and her cheeks flushing a pretty, bright pink. Draco stared, unable to respond. 

She was dressed in a faded, yellow dress and her obnoxious hair was clipped back from her face. Freckles dotted her cheeks, which were quickly darkening into a deep red. He was likely embarrassing her as he stared but he couldn’t— he simply _couldn’t_ stop. Draco hadn’t seen her in years and she looked exactly as he hoped she would.

Healthy, alive, happy.

Weasley twisted her hands in front of her nervously and took a glance around. The area was quieter than where he had previously been but there were still families around them. The train would be leaving shortly, he knew.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Weasley admitted with a tilt of her head.

Her lips pressed together in a smile as Draco took a breath in an attempt to straighten himself.

“My family…” Draco trailed off, unsure suddenly.

“I heard you had donated a large sum to help restore Hogwarts,” Weasley picked up where he left off, a slight teasing in her voice. “I rather thought you’d always liked the spotlight on you. I wasn’t expecting to find you hiding in the shadows over here.”

“Not anymore,” he muttered.

Once upon a time, Draco had enjoyed the spotlight. But that time had passed long ago, when he was forced to grow up.

His stomach turned at his thoughts and his body flushed. He hadn’t expected to see Ginny Weasley, not here, not ever again. Draco buried his memory of her deep inside himself, somewhere far away. Over the last three years he had thought of the last time he had really seen her, over and over again; he had spotted her after the Final Battle and noted her heartbreak over the loss of her brother. He had never seen her so lost, so upset, as she sat beside her mother in the Great Hall.

And Draco… Draco had tried to catch Potter during the Final Battle. He had tried to give him to Voldemort. If he had caught Potter, if he had succeeded, she would have experienced much more heartbreak. He would have caused her hurt, once again. The thought, the realization, had made him sick. To this day, it still made him ill.

He was a coward who didn’t deserve to stand in her presence. 

And Weasley was likely here with Potter. If she wasn’t here with Potter she was here with her family. He should’ve kept walking, should’ve never stopped to stare. A quick nod would have done well, she would have been fine with that, she likely hadn’t thought of him at all these past few years. Why would she have?

Draco took a step back from her.

Her hand came up to her cheek, half covering her mouth. She was smiling into her palm.

“I’m really happy to see you, Malfoy.”

Her words stilled him.

That familiar feeling he could only associate with Weasley came to him. Something untwisted inside of him then twisted again. Draco hated the feeling, hated that it was washing over him again, coming back to him as if it had never left. 

He wanted it to go away, he wanted to make it disappear, he was fine without it. Eyebrows furrowing, mask slipping, Draco leaned forward.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

Desperation colored his quiet words and he hated it. Fuck, thirty seconds in the presence of Ginny and he was falling apart. 

But his words surprised her as much as hers had shocked him. Weasley’s hand dropped and she stared up at him. And he could see her as a little girl looking at him, unimpressed as she searched over his shoulder for the Boy-Who-Lived. And he could see the fire in her eyes, so like the flames that burned in the stoves of the Hogwarts’ kitchens, as she asked him if he realized his father had tried to kill her. And he could see the relief on her face when she found herself in his company as she ran from the Carrows— relief of all things.

Draco wondered what she saw as she looked at him. 

“Harry told me,” she began slowly. “At your manor, when the Snatchers got him… you didn’t say it was him.”

A scowl marred his face. 

“Does that make me a hero to you? I didn’t sell out your precious Potter?” he spat.

His hands were shaking and he clenched them into fists to hide the fact. He was a fool, really. Of course it had to do with Potter. Perhaps it always had. Draco had long ago tried to forgive himself for what he had tried to do to Potter, what he had almost succeeded in doing. He had wished Potter dead and it wasn’t until there were no more chances of him dying that Draco stopped.

Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You’re no hero,” she said pointedly. “But you were never the enemy. They could’ve killed Harry right there, ended it all, but you—”

“I didn’t do it for Potter,” Draco managed to choke out.

He hated that this was happening here, at King’s Cross Station. He hated that there were people around. But no one seemed to notice. They were too busy dealing with their own lives to listen to two strangers bicker.

Weasley frowned as she waited for him to continue. The words were forcing their way out, crawling up his throat. He tried to fight it, could feel his lips straining to keep shut. But then she took a step towards him and he could remember her warmth as she hugged him in the loo, when she didn’t judge him even after all those times he had purposely made life difficult for her.

“I was afraid,” whispered Draco pathetically. “I was afraid and I saw Potter and your brother and Granger… And I thought of you. _You_. I— hesitated and I couldn’t do it.”

She didn’t say anything. But what did Draco expect her to say? A smirk curled on his lips—fuck, he was an absolute fool for telling her that— and he ran a hand through his hair, clenching the strands tightly before releasing them. Ginny didn’t need to deal with this.

“It’s good to see you well, Weasley,” muttered Draco.

He turned around, releasing his breath. His mother would be looking for him soon. And if Potter was around here somewhere it’d be best if he left. He had to get away from her and… from whatever this was.

“Don’t fucking move.”

Draco turned in surprise. Weasley grabbed his hand, her small hand warm in his, and she tugged him further away from the crowd. Only one person seemed to have heard her and they watched curiously as the Weasley drug the Malfoy away.

Her eyes were wet and Draco could see she had wiped at them when he wasn’t looking. That annoying feeling came again—hell, he had a feeling it was here to stay— and Draco frowned.

“You don’t get to walk away again,” Weasley snapped. “You don’t get to be a bloody git and call me _Weasley_ like there’s nothing…”

She took a deep breath.

“You don’t get to act like nothing’s changed between us. This isn’t like the first time we met here, okay?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. The first time they met here? Draco could still recall the little girl with the hole in her dress, exposing her left knee. Merlin, so much had changed since then. 

Shaking his head, Draco replied.

“What are you going on about?”

Draco couldn’t bring himself to address her as Weasley again. 

“The broom closet,” hissed Weasley, her cheeks flaming. “We kissed. And you never spoke to me again.”

Draco had experienced many things in his life. At this point, he was ready for retirement. His mother could be his constant companion for all he cared, living life out by the gardens at Malfoy Manor as they waited for his father’s time in Azkaban to come to an end. But this— this was something new. He had never been able to read Ginny, not well. After the incident in his seventh year, after the kiss in the broom closet, he realized he had no idea what Weasley did or did not want.

But he had nonetheless convinced himself she did not truly want him. He was no good for her. There was nothing good in him. There had to be another reason that Ginny had wanted to _try_ something that day at Hogwarts.

Perhaps she had been pining over Potter. Or she had been afraid with the war approaching. Maybe she had wanted to share a kiss to rebel against the social constraints around her.

But he had never believed she had unbuttoned his shirt and ordered that he call her _Ginny_ because she had really wanted to share the moment with him. The idea of it made his palms sweat. The woman before him was not the one he had last seen after the Final Battle; this woman was desperately trying to get him to understand something. 

It terrified him.

Draco Malfoy was not a brave man, he had admitted that many times. Why couldn’t she see that?

“What was I supposed to do?” The words were almost begging for sympathy. “The Carrows, Snape, if anyone had seen us socializing—”

“Excuses.” Weasley dismissed his words angrily, waving her hand. “I had just thought…”

He waited for her to collect her thoughts, stepping closer to her without realizing.

“I thought we were friends.”

Weasley shook her head as she spoke.

“No, not friends. But— we were something, weren’t we?” she asked.

They were. They had been, back at Hogwarts. Draco hesitantly lifted a hand. He stopped halfway, wondering if this was the right choice. Ginny stared at him hard, eyes blazing. They shone bright, the gold specks—one in each eye— burning. She grabbed his hand and brought it to her cheek to rest.

“I’m happy to see you, Draco,” she whispered.

Draco stared down at her, heart pumping, and suddenly felt incredibly lucky to have stumbled upon her on this platform almost ten years ago.

“Ginny?”

She tilted her head, studying him, waiting for him to continue. Her name was odd to speak, an unspoken curse for so long. Draco licked his lips.

“Thank you.”

Ginny smiled into his hand. He could feel it against his skin. Draco leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, cupping the back of her head with his other hand to keep her close.

“Tea?” 

He barely heard her whisper. The sound of the outside world was suddenly blaring as the students moved to get onto the train. Families were yelling goodbye. Friends were excitedly grabbing their trunks.  
Parents were handing off pets through the windows of the train to their children. Draco stepped back, releasing her, but she grabbed his hand.

“Let’s go for some tea,” Ginny said.

Draco pressed his lips together. 

“Potter—” he started but stopped, hating that Potter was still a part of his life. But he had thought the two were still an item, if he were to believe the gossip.

Ginny gave him a grin in response.

“None of it matters. Would you like to go get some tea with me?”

He nodded, his lips curling into a small smile.

“Indeed, Weasley. You can read me too well. I’ve been aching for some tea,” he paused. “Perhaps during which you can tell me what you had decided to _try_ in the broom closet that day?”

Ginny burst out into laughter at that, pushing him away before stepping up beside him. Their elbows knocked together and she looked up at him.

“You don’t know?”

Draco shrugged. Everything seemed suddenly better now, brighter even. The noise of the platform hardly bothered him as it had before. Ginny was beside him, laughing, and asking him to tea. 

“You, Draco,” she muttered, grabbing his hand. “I wanted to try you.”

-*.*.*-


End file.
